A cupful of memories
by cinnamon988
Summary: The Doctor always knew that Rose loved her tea, but he didn’t particulary care about it. He loved a good cuppa too, every now and then. So what?


A cupful of memories

The Doctor always knew that Rose loved her tea, but he didn't particulary care about it.

He loved a good cuppa too, every now and then. So what?

This mentality followed him through his ninth incarnation, but everything changed after his regeneration. He changed too. Not just the body, or the voice. Most of his old –ninth- personality and life-philosophy was thrown into the trashcan, along with the naive statement, that Rose loved her tea.

The first time he noticed it was after their encounter with Queen Victoria and the werewolf. She came to the control room as she always did after they returned to the ship, sat down next him on the captain's chair –well, sofa- and handed him a cuppa. It was Earl Grey, like usual, but now with two sugars instead of one, and milk took the place of the lemon.

He finished it off with four big gulps, then set the mug down next to his companion, and waited for her to follow his example. He's just finished some repairs, and was ready for another adventure.

But she didn't make any moves or say anything, just continued to sit next to him. She cradled the mug with her hands, and kept it close to her face and mouth. He watched as she inhaled the scent of the tea before each little sip, and as a calm smile found its way to her lips after she's swallowed. He sniffed the air –quietly,careful not to disturb her-, trying to find out if she mixed anything in the liquid that had this effect on her. He couldn't recognise any strange thing, just the little bitter smell of the alien herbal tea they picked up a week earlier after Rose started complaining about the lack of it.

He never understood her obsession with that kind, it tasted like ordinary green tea from Earth, there was nothing special to it – he made sure to analize the leafs before letting his companion anywhere near it after she found the first box in the cupboard, right after their first trip to Cardiff.

After a few minutes he gave up on trying to find anything wrong, and started to think about more pressing matters. Like their next adventure, a long-due visit to the Powell Estate, and that how being banished from Great Britain would make a great reason for not going back.

But he couldn't keep his mind on the topic, it always wandered in other directions. First to the mug in Rose's hands, then to the tea in it. He didn't know why, but it fascinated him.

He watched with interest as Rose picked up his discarded mug and poured half of her tea into it. A moment later she held it out to him with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. He accepted the offered mug, and then he took a sip without breaking eye-contact with her. She smiled again and shifted back into her earlier position and relaxed. He mimicked her actions, then put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a half-embrace. She wiggled a little, but then found a comfortable spot and relaxed again. Again, he did the same.

And after that he just stopped really thinking. Somehow the whole thing was familiar, but new. The scent, the whole scene –Rose, the tea, sitting in a control room was something he was used to. But there was something new, something he couldn't explain –he knew he should be able to, but he wasn't willing to let go of this feeling. His senses were hightened and dimmed in the same time. He knew that he was sitting in the still cold control room –he just fixed the broken temperature stabilizer-, but he didn't comprehend it. All he could feel was this...warmness coming from Rose –he didn't mean her bodyheat- ,the scent of her parfume, the calmness, the quiet and the peace.

He tried to remember the last time he felt like this, but he couldn't find any memory. He was more than nine hundred, and he felt pathetic that this was the first time he experienced this feeling –and by drinking tea, for Rasillon's sake. For a moment he envied Rose. She was so easy to please, so simple. But not in a bad way. She was just human; she was one of the only race in the universe that could find happiness and peace in absolutely everything –for some it was looking at pictures in a gallery or baking cookies for the family or chasing after a ball to kick it. For Rose it was drinking tea.

He smiled at his revealation, and let his mind wander back to all the times he saw her in the familiar position. He was suprised when he realized how well he could read her, with just looking at the cuppa in her hands.

In the morning she was always drinking fruit flavoured teas. Whenever she got enough sleep –meaning that he didn't show up in her room in the middle of the night announcing that they have arrived and she should get up-, she was cheery in the morning, and her choice of tea somehow mirrored her shiny mood –with raspberry, strawberry and other sweet flavours. But every time he did the whole 'showing-up-in-her-room-in-the-middle-of-the-night-announcing-that-they-have-arrived-and-she-should-get-up' thing, he always remembered to put on the kettle and leave the lemon tea on the kitchen-table.

She never told him when she was homesick and missed her mother, but she didn't even have to. For him it was enough to see the cup of Earl Grey in her hands; he knew that if he drank from it, it'd taste exactly like Jackie's. Also these were the times when he set the coordinates to the Powell Estate without whining about it. She never realized that it was the tea that gave her away, but he didn't enlighten her. He really didn't want to give her ideas.

When she was sad or feeling guilty, she made black tea. She didn't drink anything else for a week after his regeneration –and Jack's 'death'-, but he didn't call on it, he just let her grieve.

When she was happy with or without a reason, she experimented. That's the reason he had to get a new cupboard in the kitchen –the old one was full with the varieties she collected during their travels.

And of course, there was the alien herbal tea. It was their tea. Well, it was hers –he's never tasted it before-, but it was hers with him. Now he realized the reason the scene was so familiar and new, in the same time. She was always drinking this blend after coming back to the Tardis after an adventure. It was her ritual –giving him Earl Grey to gulp down, then just sitting next to him, sipping her own. This was the first time he'd actually joined her.

He made a mental note to do this more often.

He was brought back to the real world when he wanted to take a sip, but found his mug empty. He didn't even notice that he drank it all, he was so deep in his memories.

He couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Then he looked at his companion. She was watching him with a smile on her face. A slightly smug smile, he noted. He didn't mind it; actually, he was quite proud of her.

She's just taught the nine hundred years old Time Lord the most human thing in the universe. To find happiness and peace in the memories, with the help of one of the most ordinary things. A cup of tea.

He didn't want to break the silence to say 'thank you', so he just pulled her closer.

* * *

Martha and Donna, his new companions, were having dinner with their families, leaving him alone in the Tardis. He liked both of them, but now was glad for the quiet.

He made a cuppa –plain Earl grey, their usual one didn't feel right alone- and went to the library. He sat down and just stared into the fire.

Only Donna knew about this habit of this, sometimes she even joined him. At first he found it hard to believe that someone as loud and rude as Donna could appreciate these quiet moments like him. The first time she showed up with a cup of tea in her hand, he was ready to throw her out of the room. But she just smiled him, shook her head and sat down. They never spoke. They were just sitting, not even close to each other, deep in their memories.

Since Martha came back, Donna's been coming less often. The redhead seemed to sense that the feelings the other woman harboured weren't gone, and that he wouldn't want Martha to find out and join the ritual because of that –well that, and the fact that the woman didn't even like tea. He only let Donna, because she told him without sugarcoating that she'd rather feed herself to the Racnoss than do anything with him.

After a while he closed his eyes. He remembered Gallifrey, the way Susan used to kiss him on the cheek before going to school, Donna's rude insightfulness, Jack's innuendo laced comments and Rose's tea-induced smiles.

And then he wished that the weight pressing into his side and the scent of herbal tea weren't just the figments of his imagination.

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